


Through the Body's Weakness, We Persevere

by Rarae



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fainting, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt Spock (Star Trek), Hurt/Comfort, Ignoring your body, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Sick Spock (Star Trek), Sickfic, Vulcan Culture, idiot vulcan who doesnt take care of himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 09:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16992303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rarae/pseuds/Rarae
Summary: Spock gets the flu and is determined to work through it, to the detriment of his own health and everyone else's sanity.





	Through the Body's Weakness, We Persevere

Allowing one’s body to dictate what you can and cannot do is entirely illogical. The mind controls the body and the body obeys. And to permit the body to win over the mind would display a remarkable level of weakness that Spock would never tolerate. That being said, he still felt wretched. His head hurt to the point where he thought it might turn into a migraine, his stomach seemed like it was about to revolt, and his body was wracked with chills.

Nevertheless he forced himself to walk to the bridge. His duties didn’t stop just because of his own mental weakness.

Fortunately, no one seemed to notice that he only arrived 1.24 minutes early instead of his normal 5.62. The human tendency not to notice what they do not perceive as important to them can prove quite advantageous at times.

The shift started as normal, though Spock completed tasks at a slower rate than average, not lacking, however, his meticulous attention to detail and careful accuracy. Despite this, as the shift continued its inexorable progression, Spock found himself unable to concentrate, catching mistakes that he should have noticed and fixed sooner. If only his head would stop hurting. It felt like he was being lambasted by a lirpa.

Now he was engaging in human hyperbole. He really must meditate soon.

“-ister Spock!”

“Yes, Captain?”

“This is the third time I’ve called your name! Care to tell me what exactly has caught your attention over there?”

“My apologies, Captain. I was merely... distracted.”

“I could see that Mister Spock, but by what?”

“Well you see Captain, I was performing some intricate analyses on the sedimentary samples that the landing party collected from Ohiri IV. It is proving to be fascinating. The sediment contains numerous nitrogenous bases not native to the planet, but still older than the native dominant species, which would seem to indicate-”

“That’s quite enough Mister Spock!” Jim said with a laugh. “I was asking if there was any reason to believe, based on previous reports, that we’ll have any issues with the Anharans when we reach Struna 4CGG.”

“Negative, Captain. The native population has proved to be amenable to Starfleet negotiations. I do not anticipate a negative-” Spock broke off with a fit of wet coughing. “Reception,” he finished weakly.

Kirk looked up, finally giving Spock his full attention and not liking what he saw. His first officer looked more peaked than he had the night before. “Spock?”

“I am quite alright Captain. It won’t happen again.” By now most of the bridge crew was looking at the exchange and at Spock with mild concern. “I apologize for the disturbance.”

“Spock, are you sure you’re alright? I didn’t notice ‘til now but you’re not looking so hot.”

“I agree with the Capteen! You are looking a little green, Mister Spock!” Chekov interjected.

“Of course I look ‘a little green’ ensign- I am a vulcan.” Spock stood more erect, attempting to divert attention from his previously wan stature, and gave a pointed look at Chekov. No one was convinced however, and the captain continued his discrete glance-over of Spock.

“You know what he meant Mister Spock. Are you sure that you feel alright?” Kirk asked.

“As vulcans do not feel, sir, I can assure you that I am well and able to continue in the performance my duties,” Spock said as he turned back to his station, hoping to close the matter.

“Spock,” Jim began with a sigh. “Actually, no. I’m not going to get into feeling feelings versus emotion feelings right now. You look positively peakish, I can see the sweat on your forehead, and you look ready to keel over any minute now. Get to sickbay. That’s an order.”

Spock paused and waited for Kirk to say that it was a joke and to get back to work. But no such luck.. “Yes, sir,” He said with no small about of reluctance. “I will present myself to Doctor McCoy’s prodding and potions as soon as my shift is complete. As I am not ill and therefore still able to perform my duties adequately, it would be illogical to abandon my post prematurely.”

“Now, Mister Spock. That was an order, not a suggestion.” Spock looked into Jim’s eyes, as if to make sure that he was, indeed, serious on this matter before turning to exit the bridge with a curt nod of acknowledgment. 

~ΛVΛVΛVΛV~

Spock couldn’t help but lean against the walls of the turbolift and close his eyes. His headache had long since progressed into a migraine and his whole body was aching worse than it had this morning. And now he had been dismissed from duty, due to his own inability to control his bodily reactions. A pure vulcan wouldn’t have this issue, he thought.

He plodded his way to sickway, struggling to keep the contents of his stomach where they should be.

When Spock finally arrived at sickbay he could have passed out from sheer relief. Or maybe that was his body still revolting. McCoy glanced up when he heard the doors slide open but then stood up, startled, when he took in Spock’s appearance. He didn’t look awful but he also didn’t look like he would be running a marathon anytime soon. A brisk walk to a biomed might have even been too much.

“Good God Spock! What’s wrong with you?” McCoy cried out in alarm.

“There is nothing ‘wrong,’ doctor. The captain merely overrated to my unfortunate distracted state and assumed that illness must be the cause. But as you can see, I am well and still able to perform my duties so I will take my leave of you.” He turned to leave.

“Not so fast, Commander,” called out McCoy before Spock could make it back out the door. “You don’t look so hot. I think I should check you out in case you keel over and Jim has my head.”

“Illogical. The average body temperature of a vulcan is 91°, so it would only make sense that I would appear ‘not so hot.’ Furthermore, I am not at any likelihood of ‘keeling over,’ as you say, and it would be inappropriate for a commanding officer to harm one of their crew members. Nor would it be in the nature of the command to do so. So, once again, doctor, I take my leave of you as there is no logical reason for me to stay.” Again, he turned to leave and attempted to make a hasty exit. He could handle these malfunctions on his own.

“Commander,” McCoy intoned sharply. “Sit your green-blooded ass on a biobed and let me check you over. And do not make me site regulations at you. I think we both know who would win there.” Spock leveled a look at McCoy before walking over to the biobed and perching tersely on the edge, ready to leave at a moment’s notice, discomfort radiating from him. “There we go. Now let’s have a look at you.”

McCoy gathered up his medical tricorder and made his way over to Spock. He looked him up and down, pursing his lips slightly when he observed Spock’s pallor and the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. He scanned Spock with fluid movements, betraying his years of experience and then looked at the screen to analyze the results. 

“Well, Commander, it looks like you have yourself a rather severe case of the flu, which you, might I add, have made considerably worse by being so damned stubborn and going to your shift with a 97 degree fever. I’m putting you on bed rest for the next couple days and you are not, under any circumstances, to go back on duty for five days, at a minimum.” He continued to scroll through the results with a small frown gracing his face.

“Doctor, surely you understand that as a vulcan I have the capability to regulate my internal body conditions and can lower my fever myself. There is no need to remove me from rotations,” Spock protested, looking mildly panicked at the thought of not being allowed to work for so long, his brow mildly furrowing and his lips becoming slightly more tense.

McCoy gave him a stern look that brokered no argument. I’m going to give you a dose of tryptophan-lysine distillate to help clear this up faster and to help take care of the more nasty of the symptoms. But if I hear a rumor of you even thinking about trying to work, your ass will be spending the next seven days in medbay so fast your head will spin. Capiche?”

Spock’s face betrayed nothing of what he was thinking as he capitulated with a terse, “Understood, Doctor.”

“Very good.” McCoy readied the hypospray and gave Spock the injection. “I’ll notify Jim that you’ll be off duty for the next little while. Now, get out of my medbay you green-blooded hobgoblin and remember, no working. Period.”

“I will endeavour to follow your advice, Doctor.” He rose and left without another word.

~ΛVΛVΛVΛV~

Spock started to walk back to his quarters, but noticed that his migraine was beginning to ebb, likely the result of the doctor’s potions. In addition, the ever-present aches in his body were less than they were moments prior, the nausea was decreasing, and Spock could sense his fever declining. With a couple hours of meditation that intended to engage in later, he believed that he could terminate the fever, and illness at last.

His body seemed, though not mended, better than before. Although he had intended to follow the doctor’s instructions, if for no reason other than the potential consequences should he be caught not doing so, Spock found himself considering going to the labs instead. After all, there was no reason to delay his necessary tasks on account of his body not cooperating, especially since it was improving. The mind controls the body and Spock was determined to have his mind prove victorious.

With his goal fresh in his mind, Spock walked to the lower labs. These labs were less frequently used than the labs on the upper decks, but still had sufficient resources for him to continue his research on the polarizing effects of the raksh samples, which were fascinating stones recovered from Andoria. Their particular resonance structures could have the ability to make dilithium crystals more effective when transitioning from Warp 3 to Warp 4. Spock was looking into more effective and safe ways to control their resonance so that they could eventually become the standard in Starfleet engines.

As he sat down at his station he felt a sudden wave of dizziness. Control. That’s what he needs, just more control. Spock took a few deep breaths, centering himself and stretching his mental controls over his body. Vulcan telepathy has the ability to sense and heal damage and, though it had not done an admirable job of doing so thus far, perhaps his mental control will be stronger now that McCoy’s potions had decreased some of the more distracting symptoms.

Spock let his senses rove his body, searching for the cause of the maladity. Obviously, the etiology of the disease was a rogue virus that somehow passed by the sensors in the transporter. But he was looking more for the symptoms the disease presented than the disease itself. His immune system could take care of the rest without his interference.

The sensation was hard to describe, but it was almost like a large, warm hand was roving his body, slowly checking each body system, each organ, each cell, for unusual functionalities. It was all as he expected. Elevated pulse, elevated blood pressure, increased breathing rate, increased immune function, decreased white blood cell count, secondary infection of the pulmonary system, and gastroenteritis. Nothing unusual and nothing that was unsolvable with meditation. As Spock directed his inspection to his head, the lightheadedness began to increase and his vision became blurry.

He pressed his palms against the console, attempting again to steady his breath. He migrated his efforts towards his head and attempted to assuage some of the pervasive presyncope and cephalgia. His limbs, which had previously been sluggish and aching, were overcome with a steadily increasing weakness as his breath quickened and his vision faded in and out. What was happening?

Spock couldn’t think. What was happening to him? Take control; you are in charge of your body, not the other way around!

~ΛVΛVΛVΛV~

Spock woke up slowly. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a blurry version of the ceiling. Breathing hurt. He forced himself to take deep breaths anyways. Somewhere above him a shrill beeping noise started getting faster. Would somebody turn that horrid thing off? It was doing nothing but exacerbating his migraine, which had returned with a vengeance to rival a Klingon’s. Surely a noise so annoying could not possibly serve a useful function.

“Back to the land of the living I see?” A smug voice intoned. Spock attempted to sit up to see who that was disturbing his rest and to see if maybe the voice could be prevailed upon to speak quieter.

“Lay back down, Commander!” Ah, that was the captain. And ow that did not help matters.

“Calm down Jim. If I had to guess, he’s got a pretty bitchin’ migraine going on. Isn’t that right Spock?”

“Well, it only serves him right, Bones! Bed rest you said. And what does he do? He goes right back to work! Of all the harebrained, idiotic-”

“Oh, like you’re any better!” Spock could almost hear the glare Kirk was giving McCoy at that statement. “But he’s not wrong, now is he Mister Spock?” McCoy walked over to Spock’s side, arms crossed and face furious. Even Spock couldn’t help a twinge of regret for disobeying the good doctor.

Spock stared at him a long moment before asking, “What happened?”

“Well you see, sometimes when someone has the flu, and a fever, and is a complete moron and goes against his doctor’s advice, you end up passing out from exhaustion and, need I say it again, a severe fever.” McCoy said, eyes full of fury though his voice didn’t betray the anger he was feeling.

Ah, that would explain why he had no recollection of returning to sickbay. “After you injected me with the tryptophan-lysine distillate my symptoms were mitigated and I, logically, believed-” Spock attempted.

“Nope. Not going to fly.” McCoy interrupted. “You are going to be right here for the next week where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Surely that’s not necessary-”

“Now hold on a minute-!”

Spock and Kirk tried to say at the same time before cutting over and looking at each other. Spock’s physical appearance had deteriorated in the few short hours since they had seen each other on the bridge.

McCoy looked between the two for a moment. He pointed to Spock. “You shut up. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say right now.” He looked at Kirk. “And you, what do you want? You are not the doctor here. I am so stop complaining.”

“That’s just it Bones! You’re a doctor, not a babysitter. Me on the other hand.” He trailed off for a moment, arms spread wide, expecting McCoy to pick up on what he was trying to say. McCoy just stared at him, unimpressed. If the idiot wanted something from him he would have to use his words like a big boy. “I did promise ‘in sickness and in health’ and, well, here’s sickness. I’ll keep an eye on him!” He finished with a grin.

“No. Absolutely not.” McCoy said. 

“I assure you both, there is not need for anyone to monitor me. I will return to my quarters and meditate. It would be illogical to waste time and resources ‘babysitting’ me, as you say.” Spock hoped that his companions would see the logic in this argument and not subject him to further humiliation by monitoring him like a small terran child.

McCoy glared at him. “I thought I told you to shut up.” He sighed. “But you’re going to be a pain in my ass if you stay here, aren’t you?”

“I-”

“Shut up! For once in your live stop talking and making this worse for yourself. You both are the most obnoxious, self-flagellating, pains in my ass that I have ever met!”

Kirk grinned. “Is that a yes?”

“No! I mean yes. But there are conditions!” Kirk nodded. “First off, no funny business. ‘Ya hear me?” He narrowed his eyes at Kirk. “He’s not up for it right now. Second, he’s to remain on bed rest for the next week. This means no strenuous activity, which brings me back to point one. No funny business.”

Kirk looked offended. “Geez it’s like you think I’m some sort of unsatisfiable idiot or something. I wouldn’t take advantage of my bondmate like that when he’s ill!” He knew he had a bit of a reputation of a Lothario, but really?

“I am not-”

“Condition three! I want you to check in with me at least three times a day. He needs plenty of fluids, some food if he can, and rest. Meditation couldn’t hut but mostly he needs sleep.” He gave a pointed look to Kirk. He wouldn’t have Spock passing out again due to his own negligence.

“Got it Bones. I’ll take care of him. You don’t need to worry about a thing!”

“Lord help me…” McCoy muttered under his breath. “As for you, Mister-I’m-Immune-To-Being-Sick, you are to go to bed with Jim-” Kirk snickered. “-you are to go to bed with Jim and sleep. No working and no trying to weasel out of it.”

“I fail to understand what a small terran mammal has to do with this situation.” 

McCoy was unimpressed with Spock’s feeble diversion. “You are getting on my last nerve. You know what I mean. Now get out of here, both of you, before you give me an aneurysm!”

“Doctor, we both know that is not possible, especially for one with your above average health.” If Spock was going to be inconvenienced and humiliated by this whole thing, then he was determined to irritate McCoy all the while.

“Spock,” McCoy warned. “If you don’t-”

“C’mon Spock. Let’s get out of here before he changes his mind.” Kirk tugged at Spock’s arms, helping him sit up and get on his feet.

“Jim, I promise you I can walk on my own.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” McCoy muttered under his breath. Kirk shot him a displeased look and turned his attention back to his bondmate, who still looked like he might pass out again at a strong gust of wind. He’d been given fluids and a nutrient injection, but he was still weak.

Spock forced himself to stand up and managed to walk to the door with only help from a few conveniently placed and sturdy objects to help hold himself up, though Kirk hovered nearby, waiting to help like a concerned mother hen. And if he stumbled at all in his endeavours, then he would never admit it. Together they walked to their quarters with a tired McCoy staying behind and praying to a god he wasn’t sure he believed in for the patience and skill to keep these two idiots of his alive and healthy. If only for his own sanity.

~ΛVΛVΛVΛV~

They both sat on the bed, not looking at one another and with a fierce desire to avoid the talk they were doomed to have. But a river could sooner be diverted from its course than this conversation could be avoided, if only for the fact that Jim was worried as fuck. A river would complain about it less than his beloved t’hy’la too…

“Spock, just tell me, what,” he paused and took a deep breath. “What happened today? All I know is you looked fine last night when I saw you, then you looked like death this morning- I’m now suddenly very sorry I didn’t get to see you before our shift by the way- and then you get sent to sickbay and the next thing I hear is you’ve passed out? That’s not okay, my beloved. What happened?” He looked at Spock, his anxiety and fear bleeding through their shared bond. He couldn’t understand why his precious bondmate would let himself come to the point of passing out.

Spock looked around the room, both attempting to gather his thoughts and come up with the best way to settle Jim’s worries without revealing too much. “Ashayam, I did not feel well this morning. Yes, this I admit. But as you know, vulcan’s have the ability to regulate such physical conditions as sickness.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Jim couldn’t help but interrupt. “If you could have fixed all this then why didn’t you? Riddle me that.”

Spock looked up to meet Jim’s eyes before looking away. “I attempted to do so, Captain-”

“Oh no, don’t ‘captain’ me now Spock. This isn’t a Starfleet thing; this is an us thing and right now I’m Jim.”

“You are right of course, Jim. If I might continue?” Jim nodded. “I attempted to do so in the labs-”

“Which you weren’t supposed to be in, might I add.” Spock gave him a displeased look. “Sorry, you’re right. Go one.

“Like I was saying, I attempted to do so in the labs, but it appears that I was unable to gain control over by body before I fell unconscious. The timing was most unfortunate, but all is well now and I have the opportunity to meditate and heal in an environment more conducive to such things.”

“If you knew your quarters are more conducive to resting then why didn’t you come here in the first place? Why’d you go to the labs to keep working if you knew you were so sick and against Bones’ instructions?”

“After the doctor administered his potion my major symptoms cleared and I was under the impression that I would be able to continue performing my duties adequately.” Jim looked like he was about to interrupt again. “Clearly,” he continued before Jim could have the chance, “I was mistaken and shall have the opportunity now to undergo my mandated rest.”

“Undergo? Christ, Spock, it’s not an operation. But, anyways, that doesn’t answer my question. Why did you go to the bridge in the first place when you knew you were sick? You should’ve gone straight to sickbay.”

“I told you, Jim. I thought that I would be able to have enough control over body to continue my duties and overcome my more unfortunate symptoms.”

“God, Spock! Your body isn’t something to control and manage. It’s you. You are your body and your body is you. You don’t have to overcome or control anything! That isn’t your job. Your job is to go to sickbay when you feel sick so you can be treated!”

“It would be illogical to waste resources treating something that, as a vulcan, I should be able to control myself.”

Jim let out a humorless laugh. “Is that what all this is about? You being a vulcan? What, are all humans inferior little crybabies because we can’t ‘control’ being sick like vulcans supposedly can? Huh, is that it?” His voice continued to rise throughout his minor diatribe.

“That’s not it at all. You are making invalid assumptions based on faulty logic.”

“Then what is it Spock? That’s what I’m trying to understand! Why do you think that you have to be so much better than the rest of us? So high and mighty and above such petty human things like the flu?” Spock could feel his migraine returning as the conversation, or rather, argument, continued.

“No!”

“Then what is it?” Jim’s patience was at its breaking point, like a thread that has been so worn by the day’s stress that it was about to snap and consequences be damned.

“It’s because I’m not vulcan.” Spock was almost yelling at this point and only his strength of will prevented him from lashing back with some less than complimentary rebuttals about Jim.

“What?” Jim was suddenly breathless. “That is the stupidest thing-”

“Jim, I am not vulcan. I am merely half-vulcan. A true vulcan would have been able to control himself and not let the situation devolve to this point.”

“Oh Spock…”

Spock turned away from him, unable to bear looking at him anymore. “Please do not argue this Jim. I have come to this conclusion logically and find myself of its accuracy, however distasteful it might be.”

Jim looked like his heart just might break. “Spock you have to know that’s not true.” While it’s true that Spock might be half vulcan, he was no less dedicated to the code of Surak, no less strong, no less brave and intelligent, no less.

“What is not true about it? I am half-human. This is irrefutable fact. As such, I am influenced by my genetics and possess less control than my full-blood counterparts who would have been able to work through the pain and remain in control of their body. I was unable to do this. I am just…” Spock looked like was in pain as he whispered, “a half-blood.”

Jim looked startled. “No! You are not just anything and if I hear you calling yourself that again I’ll, I’ll. Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but rest assured it won’t be pleasant! Why would you ever think that?” He was plaintive at this point. How long has his beloved vulcan had such self-deprecating thoughts? How had he never noticed, even through their mind melds? Was Spock trying to hide this from him? Why? Was he embarrassed, ashamed? Who made his wonderful, brave, strong, confident husband think he was less because of something he couldn’t control? 

Jim’s thoughts were running a parsek a minute, leaking anxiety and concern through the bond. Spock could feel his distress. “Jim, please. Calm yourself. I don’t understand your anxiety regarding this.”

“Do you really not. What if I told you that I thought I wasn’t as good as, say, Bone because I don’t know as much as him about medicine, or, or Uhura because I don’t know a thousand and three languages? Or if I told you I was somehow less than other humans because I have more allergies than a diseased Nekul?”

Spock’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Someone less familiar with him likely wouldn’t have noticed. “That is entirely illogical t’hy’la. You cannot control your body and how it reacts to allergens and you are certainly not less than McCoy or Uhura for lacking their specialties. Your knowledge and your strength lies elsewhere.”

“Exactly! You may have less control than some other vulcans, which I sincerely doubt by the way, but that doesn’t mean anything. First of all, it’s ridiculous to expect you to be able to overpower your body’s symptoms of being ill by sheer willpower and second of all, you are not less than other vulcans because of any perceived lack of control. Which, again, I don’t believe for a second that you lack in any way. You have so many other skills that others lack! That vulcans as a whole lack,” Jim finished with a triumphant look. He leaned back to look into his bondmate’s eyes, which were still doubtful.

Spock met Jim’s eyes with a steady gaze. “You are missing the point Jim. I am aware of my own skill set and how it differs from the rest of my people and I am aware that those skills could be an advantage. But, it doesn’t matter. I lack the control that a vulcan of my age and status should possess. Humans may not expect each other to control their illnesses but we do.”

Spock looked a little desperate at this point, willing Jim to understand and for this conversation to be over so he could sleep.

“Love, no. You can’t expect yourself to be perfect at everything and it’s completely understandable to not be able to lower your fever or whatever it is you do when it was so high that it made you faint.” Jim reached over and took Spock’s hands in his, gently massaging them, as if trying to rub away all of his insecurities. “You couldn’t possibly be expected to think clearly under those circumstances.”

“I still should have-” Spock broke off and looked down at their conjoined hands. “It does not matter. Let us agree to disagree as my mother would say.” His voice was quiet, even in the stillness of the room.

Jim was conflicted. He wanted to spare his lover any unnecessary pain, but at the same time he didn’t want to let Spock go on thinking he was somehow worth less because of some subjective measure of control and unrealistic expectations of what should be under his control.

“Please Jim, I need to meditate.” He tried to gently extricate his hands from his lover’s.

Jim wouldn't’ let him, gripping harder. “One thing, just one. Please, please just tell me that you know that you are important to me and that I don’t, I don’t think less of because of what happened today. I’m just concerned and I want you to be okay.”

“I will be fine Jim. You heard the good doctor. The virus should be out of my system by this time next week.”

“Not just that,” Jim was quick to correct. “I mean up here too.” He tapped Spock’s forehead, right over a melding point. “I need to know that you’re okay.”

Spock looked at Jim for a moment, his face inscrutable but his eyes filled with a soft warmth. “I promise you Jim, as long as I have you, I will always be ‘okay.’”

Jim took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said in a whisper and again with more confidence, “okay.” He gave Spock a soft smile, one that indicated that this conversation wasn’t over but promised that he would be there with him all the same, never and always touching and touched.

“You know I love you right?”

The corners of Spock’s mouth quirked up. “Forever and always. I ashaya du, t’hy’la.” He leaned over and gave his beloved a gentle kiss, full of promise and hope for a better tomorrow.

One where they may boldly go, and continue to grow into a better, more healthy future.

**Author's Note:**

> I thrive off kudos and comments!


End file.
